


College Days

by CuriosityRedux



Series: Dragon Drabbles Modern [15]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Hiccstrid - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 17:23:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16769563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriosityRedux/pseuds/CuriosityRedux
Summary: They're best friends. Maybe more. A horrible accident couldn't change that, could it?





	1. Friday

**Fridays**

**-**

“Sorry,” Astrid shrugged and wrinkled her nose at the bright yellow flier in her hand. “Amazing as that sounds, I’ve got a date with a physics textbook tonight.”

Snotlout groaned and sat his elbows on the library table the blonde was currently occupying. “C’mon, you haven’t come out with us at all this semester! You’re always working or doing student council or something. Live a little!”

“Well, some of us have grades to maintain if we want to keep scholarship.” She gave him an apologetic smile, but there was no heart in it. “If you guys ever decide you want to do a study group, though, you know where to find me.”

It took a little longer to convince him that, _yes_ , she was in fact going to pick physics over the Greek mixer, and _no_ , she didn’t plan on stopping by for a drink or two. There was a time and a place for letting her hair down, but it wasn’t two weeks before finals at Snotlout and Tuff’s frat house. She much preferred the laid back get togethers at Fishlegs’ apartment, when it was just them and a couple of beers and she was much less likely to find someone’s hand inching up her skirt. Advertising her self-taught self defense classes by dislocating the halfback’s thumb was still the infamy of her sophomore year. _  
_

But after awhile, he gave up. Astrid was left alone. And the next person to slide into the chair across from her was actually the one she’d been waiting for.

“And where have _you_ been?” she teased, looking up from her binder with a raised brow. 

Hiccup gave her a crooked grin and slung his bag over the tabletop. “Sorry. Got stuck running scantrons for Dr. Genius.” Rolling his eyes, he pushed his glasses up his nose in a pretty accurate imitation of their physics professor, who was neither a doctor nor a genius. “Haddock! My favorite TA. Run these by the grading room for me, will ya?”

Astrid shook her head at the impersonation and scoffed. “You’re practically asking for it, when you spend all your time in the lab. Nerd.”

"Next time I’ll tell him I have a very mean, very impatient young lady waiting for me.” Rifling through piles of notes and sketches, he dug his textbook out from the bottom of his bag. Doodles of fancy aerodynamic calculations and Toothless, his cat, spilled out, but he just shoved them back inside. “ _However_ _,_ I come bearing gifts.” He reached between the pages of the text and tugged out a thick packet. “The study guide for the final, fresh off the printer.”

She eagerly snatched it from his hands. “I knew making you my best friend would come in handy!” Her eyes widening in excitement, she flipped through the unstapled papers with glee. “It’s still warm.”

"What do you think ‘fresh off the printer’ means?” His sarcastic snort earned him a thump to his forehead, but she knew he was long used to the abuse by now. He didn’t even bother trying to bat her hands away anymore. “I thought you’d appreciate the advanced copy.”

“All the benefits of sleeping with the professor, none of the work,” she muttered under her breath. It was how Ruffnut described their relationship, usually while attempting to steal the answers from Astrid’s homework.

It didn’t take long for them to settle into their usual Friday night routine. She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but sometime during freshman year, she and Hiccup had found themselves at the library at the same time. They’d been friends long before, having grown up together, but it wasn’t until they started claiming the second floor of the library every Friday that they really got close. It wasn’t even studying half the time. Sometimes they’d set up their laptops and watch movies. Sometimes they’d share a pizza while Astrid worked on student council stuff and Hiccup spent the evening tracking down parts for his part-time job at Berk’s Garage. Once, on a particularly empty night, they’d turned up their music and taken over the library Breakfast Club style.

Unfortunately, with the end of the semester quickly approaching, those more eventful Fridays were few and far between. And with Astrid struggling under the pathetic teaching style of Dr. Genius, she needed every minute of her best friend’s tutelage that she could get.

“It’s just formulas,” Hiccup always answered with a shrug when she asked him how he was so good at this stuff. “Input. Output.”

That evening in particular was more work than play. Though they took the occasional break to engage in a Skittle war between the bookshelves, most of the night was spent with Hiccup leaning over her shoulder, pointing out errors in her calculations and blowing eraser shavings off of her once perfectly-white study guide. They’d often start out half-serious, spending more time _wasting_ time than working. But then after ten or eleven o’clock would hit, the pair would settle. Sometimes Astrid put in headphones. Sometimes Hiccup got lost in his undergrad project.

They never stayed in one place for long, since the upper floor was almost always devoid of people (save them and the one half-awake part-timer watching the information desk). Usually they began at a table, but then they’d move to the big fluffy couch, to the book stacks, to stretching out on the huge red and white floor rug. Astrid’s favorite place was the enormous glass window of the library’s back wall, hidden behind the last row of bookshelves. It overlooked the campus’ main square, where the fountain was located, and she liked being able to look up from her incomprehensible equations and watch people go by. It cleared her mind.

“Hiccup, look at this.” She broke the companionable silence that had stretched between them to point out the window. “That guy’s wearing a Hairy Hooligan shirt. That’s that band you like, right?”

When he didn’t answer, she turned to look at her best friend. They’d been sprawled out on their stomachs, lost in their own studies, so the quiet hadn’t been strange. But now, seeing the boy asleep with his cheek pressed to a scribble filled notebook, the silence meant something different. Astrid snorted, shaking her head. “Dork.”

She let her eyes linger on his face. His lips were parted just so, and his scruff was barely reaching that day-too-hairy mark. The way he had his head pillowed on his forearm, his glasses had been knocked crooked, and she could see his thick bronze lashes resting against his cheekbones. Her heart gave a little skip. Under the fluorescent lights, his freckles stood out so much she could connect them like constellations. 

Astrid chewed on her lower lip. She twirled her pencil in her hand. And then, as quiet as a ghost, she lowered her face and brushed her mouth across his.

Sitting up, she scooted back against the window so she could look up to see him after every physics problem. Glancing down at her study guide, she tried to suppress her smile and will the figures on the page into an order she’d understand.

One day, she’d summon the courage to make him ask her on a real date. For now, though— Fridays would do. 


	2. Saturdays

**Saturdays**

**-**

He wasn’t sure when the beep started. It was almost like the beep had always been there, since the beginning of time maybe. Just the mechanical repetition of noise, high pitched and focused somewhere to his left. It was only becoming _aware_ of the beep that pulled him from the fog, followed by a powerful, intense _ache._

Everything hurt. His hurts hurt. A headache split through his temples, somehow chasing down his spine and blooming through his arm. His chest burned with every breath that his traitorous lungs pulled in. His hip was numb. The rest of his leg was decidedly not. If there had ever been a time in Hiccup’s life where he’d been in more pain, he couldn’t recall it. 

A harsh, fluorescent light fizzled through his lashes as he attempted to force his eyelids to rise. It made him flinch at first, but then he could make out the silhouette of someone standing near his bed— He pried his eyes open and gave his pupils a moment to adjust to the shape of her shoulders, the line of her back, the curve of her ponytail.

“No, he’s not awake yet.” Astrid’s whisper was soothing compared to the irritating, incessant beep. “Yeah. No, I don’t mind at all. No, he’ll be fine until you get here.”

Hospital room. That was the first clear thought that bubbled to the surface of his bleary mind. There was no mistaking the unremarkable hotel standard set of drawers pressed against the wall, the flat-screen television mounted to the wall. There was a rolling stool pushed up to his left side, and to his right, a small guest’s couch covered in a hospital grade sheet. His gaze found the source of the beeping— an EKG monitor flashing beside his bed, along with an IV drip of some sort of clear liquid. His eyes followed the tubes into a bandaged needle taped to his inner arm. 

“It’s okay, Mr. Haddock, really,” Astrid was saying. She leaned her shoulder against the window— the room was bright, but outside was dark. “You don’t have to thank me.”

There was an overwhelming exhaustion holding him still, a deep heaviness that seemed to seep through to his bones. He wanted to call out to her, but the haze of what had to be painkillers made his jaw tight and his tongue thick. He swallowed and felt his side protest at that little action. 

His best friend murmured a few more words into her cell phone— his phone?— and then pulled it away from her ear. When she turned, and her tired gaze fell on him, her blonde brows shot up. 

“Hiccup!” Cell phone forgotten, she rushed to his side and took his hand in hers. “I didn’t know you were awake. How are you feeling?” Her expression was contorted with concern, her blue eyes bruised with dark circles. 

He unglued his mouth and tried to wet his lips before realizing that it was a useless endeavor. “Like I got hit by a truck.”

She laughed breathlessly before giving him a scolding look. “Not funny, Hiccup. Too soon.”

Narrowing his gaze, he tried not to think about the knife of pain stabbing through his brain. Instead, he wracked his thoughts for his last few memories. He’d been riding his motorcycle, on the way to the library to meet Astrid. There had been a big, red semi. He remembered the light reflecting off of its headlights. 

“Did I really get hit by a truck?” His throat, miraculously, didn’t hurt, but he felt as if it should. “Did my bike make it?”

There was a tight pulling at her cheeks, almost as if she wanted to smile but couldn’t. “Your bike is fine. You weren’t hit by a truck. You kind of hit it, though.” Her hand reached out and then hesitated for a moment before brushing his hair away from his forehead. Her cool fingers were like a balm to his blazing skin. “The pick-up in front of you didn’t have his debris tied down right. A branch got loose, and you swerved to avoid it.”

“Swerved into a truck?” He tried to give her a humorless chuckle, but his wince at the pain in his ribs just made the notch in her brow deepen. “Pan to the fire, huh?”

Astrid shook her head. The hand that brushed away his bangs tugged at the locks behind his ear. Her chin dimpled, and her eyes started to glitter. She sniffed.

His gaze began to wander her face, an anxiety starting to flutter in his throat. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“I’m worried about you,” she confessed, her voice breaking. Her fingers slipped to his face, her thumb brushing across his cheek. It was so intimate— the beep picked up, and the thought struck him as hilarious in his drug-addled daze. 

“Am I dying?” he asked, raising a brow at her. He lifted his hand to touch hers. He’d be embarrassed later, but for now, the warmth that bloomed along his skin as he laced their fingers together chased away the pain. 

She shook her head. After sniffing again, she rubbed the heel of her palm across her eyes. “I just want you to know. I’m going to be right here for you, okay? Every step of the way.”

Hiccup watched, baffled, as she tore her face away and swore under her breath. “Astrid?” His hand tightened in hers. “What’s going on?”

His best friend closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. Then she rested her free hand on his chest. He wondered if she could feel the way it was slamming against his sore ribs. “You were crushed under your bike, Hiccup. Your leg—” She broke off, glanced at the ceiling, and then tried again. “Your leg was mangled. By the time your dad called me and told me where you were, you were already in the operating room.”

Hiccup inhaled sharply. Something like alarm was ringing louder than the beeping now. He raised his heavy arm to pull her out of his line of sight, and something caught in his throat. His head swirled. His stomach lurched.

His legs were hidden under blankets, but they were thin enough that he could make out the shapes beneath. And they didn’t match.


	3. Sundays

**Sundays**

**-**

“Hiccup!” Stoick’s growl was followed by a swear and the sound of a smack landing on the back of his son’s head. “If you break that thing, I’ll sell your other leg to pay for repairs!”

“It’s _my_ leg,” the young man muttered, not looking up. In one hand he gripped the ankle of his new prosthesis, and in the other was a miniature screwdriver. His mouth was set in a scowl.

“Don’t break the expensive prosthetic,” Astrid sighed from the loveseat. Elbow deep in the Haddocks’ laundry, she pulled the sleeve of one of Hiccup’s button-downs straight and used her chin to hold the shirt to her chest.

“I’m not breaking it,” he grumbled. “I’m loosening it.”

She flicked her eyes to his face. For a twenty-one year-old suddenly adjusting to one-leggedness, Hiccup had been accepting his amputation with surprising optimism and humor. Ever since that morning, though, when he and his father had gone to the doctor to receive his new prosthesis, his mood had been dark. He’d batted Toothless away from him every time the cat got close, and he’d hardly looked up when Astrid arrived.

They were on a rotation schedule. Stoick came down to Hiccup’s apartment on the weekends, and then Astrid stayed from Monday through Thurday. On Fridays, Fishlegs came to keep him company until his dad got there Saturday afternoon. He didn’t make his feelings about the arrangement anything less than obvious, and if any of them hovered too much, he got irritable. It was an adjustment period, one that was difficult for all of them.

“Dr. Imoji said it looked like a perfect fit,” Stoick grumbled as he crossed back through the living room. He plucked a couple of things from the pile of clothes and stuffed them into the duffel bag he carried.

“Well, since it’s digging into _my_ stump and not Dr. Imoji’s, I’m making an executive decision.”

There was a little acid in the way Hiccup said _stump_. His father gave Astrid a withering glance and then looked to the ceiling with a shake of his head.

“I’m heading out. I’ll be back at the end of the week.” Stoick gave Toothless a grudging pat as the cat climbed the back of the loveseat to wish him goodbye. It was an amusing picture, since the burly man could have picked up the little feline with one hand. “ _Don’t_ break that thing. Astrid, call me if you need anything.”

“We’ll be fine,” she smiled, giving Stoick a wave.

He patted Hiccup’s shoulder roughly as he passed the couch, the only physical affection usually exchanged between the two. The younger man only nodded absently, like the touch had been words he needed to respond to. Then his father was slinging his bag over his shoulder and ducking out the front door.

“You wanna go see a movie or something?” Astrid asked after he’d gone, setting aside a nicer shirt to be placed on a hanger. “You still owe me a cheeseburger, y'know.”

“Not tonight.” His answer was low and disinterested. The prosthesis gave a creaking noise that made her nervous, and his brows furrowed as he lifted the false leg to inspect the damage. After a moment and a shrug, he went back to attacking the thing.

“Okay,” she replied slowly. Her attentions went back to the last few articles of clothing, and then she pushed away from her seat and crossed the room. Falling onto the couch, she leaned over Hiccup to steal the remote. He stiffened, but she pretended not to notice, bringing the television to life with a click. “Pay-per-view?”

He frowned, finally glancing away from his prosthesis to give her an unamused look. There was no answer, though, and so she pretended not to see. Pressing down the irritation beginning to simmer, she chose a movie she wasn’t really interested in but hadn’t seen yet. Perhaps by simply _appearing_ to be engrossed, she could subconsciously will Hiccup into watching the bawdy comedy.

Astrid had read all the “How to Help Your Loved One” pamphlets that the doctors had shoved at Stoick. They were filled with unhelpful little phrases like _let your loved one grieve_ and _help your loved one_ _keep_ _realistic expectations._ She had thought that with all the smiling and joking Hiccup had been doing in the past month, there would be no need to make sense of the pamphlets. But the way he was glaring at the flesh-toned foot, her heart was sinking.

“You _are_ going to break that thing if you keep at it,” she informed him. “You’re a mechanic, not a prosthetis. It’s not as durable as your bike.”

His snort was sardonic. “Let’s throw _it_ at a semi and find out.”

Astrid sighed. She set aside the remote and rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her palms. “Just say it. You hate it.”

“I hate it,” he promptly echoed.

Twisting, she pulled her legs up so she could cross them under her and stretched her arm over the back of the couch. After staring at him for a long moment, she took a deep breath. “I found an article about how you can switch the pedals and stuff on your motorcycle. You can still ride.”

Hiccup looked up. With a blank expression, he held up the prosthesis and gave it a little shake in her direction. “Y'know what the guy said when he put it on me for the first time?” After a pause, he straightened and adopted an accent. “'Looks good as new.‘”

“So maybe not the most tactful thing he could’ve said,” she allowed with a wince. “But–”

“And then the nurse told dad, 'Careful. That girlfriend won’t be able to keep her hands off of it.'” His expression was flat, and Astrid blushed under his even gaze.

Her eyes dropped to the side. It must have been the pregnant, red-headed nurse from last time, the one who’d winked at Astrid while rolling up Hiccup’s sweatpants to measure his still-healing leg. She’d been sweet. They’d laughed afterwards about how she probably got the wrong impression. It seemed they were right.

“I can handle _this_ ,” he said, gesturing at his legs. They were hidden beneath a fuzzy blanket Astrid had bought not long after Hiccup got out of the hospital, but the shape of his left knee was clearly visible beneath. It tapered just a few inches and then rounded off into a nub that she was still learning not to shy away from. He rested his hand on his thigh, and his long fingers flexed as if reaching for the lost flesh before settling. “But the fake cheeriness, the way people tiptoe around their pity– it sucks.”

She started to say that nobody pitied him. But then she thought better of it and let the words die. “It’ll get better,” she murmured instead. “They’re just trying to be sensitive to your feelings.”

Hiccup scoffed. He pointed the prosthesis at her. “Well? Can you keep your hands off of it? Does this hollow, shiny plastic leg inspire an insatiable desire to ravish me?” Though his words were sarcastic and bordering on a little mean, there was a grief behind his eyes.

“Don’t tease me,” she commanded softly, swallowing the urge to do just that simply for the sake of disproving him. Her hand went to her hair in an irrepressible wave of self-consciousness. Before everything happened, before the accident and Hiccup’s amputation, they’d been getting closer. She’d been getting braver. Every time she saw him, she’d had to keep herself from blurting out her true feelings. There were Fridays where she almost did.

It took more than his leg. It took her courage too.

“I’m not teasing you,” he argued, his brow creased with irritation. “I’m asking you– does this fake _thing_ make it easier to pretend I’m not crippled? Does it freak you out more or less than a mishapen stump?”

Astrid Hofferson did not do self pity. The pamphlets would probably discourage her ire. She felt her frown deepen into something angrier, and her hand ripped the prosthesis from his grip. Pushing off of the couch, she crossed the room and leaned the false leg by the doorway. Then she snatched the shirts to be hung off of the loveseat.

“I’m going to bed,” she informed him. “This movie sucks.”

To her surprise, he gripped the arm of the couch and slid to his foot. Toothless meowed in excitement and rubbed himself against Hiccup’s shin as he leaned against the furniture.

“I want to know, Astrid.” There was a desperation in his demand. “Does the prosthesis make it all better? Does it make the ugliness disappear?” He licked his lips, his eyes searching her frustrated expression, and then he added, “Or am I too disfigured now?”

She folded her arms over her chest and pressed her mouth into a thin line. Before she could stop herself, her feet carried her back to the couch. “You lost your leg,” she began lowly. “It’s gone, and I’m sorry about that. Some people are going to pity you. Some are going to stare.” Astrid dropped his shirts and detached his clawed hands from the cushion so she could bring them to her shoulders. Hiccup wobbled for a moment, trying to steady himself, and then regained his balance. “But I don’t care if you’ve got a foot, a stump, or a monster truck wheel. I don’t think you’re ugly or disfigured.”

“You’re my friend,” he whispered, and she watched as almost four weeks of smiles and laughter gave way to the realization of a loss. “You have to say that.”

“I’m not just your friend.” She resisted the urge to clench her jaw, her fingers gently curling around his wrists. “I’m a woman, Hiccup. Whether or not you see me that way. And whether you use the prosthesis or not, I will still be attracted to you. Bone or plastic, a leg won’t change that for me.”

He blinked and grimaced, his features torn between wonder and confusion. It made her heart stutter a little haphazardly. Her words were vague enough– he could take from them what he wanted. But they’d been best friends long enough that he would know she’d never lie to him. She wouldn’t pretend to make him feel better.

“I bet you say that to all your amputee friends,” he breathed, and the sound of a joke coming from his lips eased the tension between them just a little.

“Just the ones I have an insatiable desire to ravish,” she countered. Astrid gave him a small smile, and then she forced herself to step out of his reach. He lowered himself back onto the cushions, but didn’t tear his gaze from her as she picked up his button-downs and backed up. “I _am_ going to bed.” She hoped her cheeks didn’t look as warm as they felt. “You know where I’ll be if you need me.”

Hiccup nodded. He watched her like maybe she’d sprouted a tail or grown gills. Toothless hopped onto his lap, and he absently raked his fingers through the cat’s black fur. “Were you ever planning on telling me?”

“I just did,” she answered, moving to place her hand on the bedroom door. It took a little nerve to toss him a smirk. “You’re pretty dumb for a smart guy.”


End file.
